


Red in the Snow

by Shadow_Ember



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Balloons, Brotherly Love, Moscow, Snow, Symbolism, young Ranskahovs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Ember/pseuds/Shadow_Ember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anatoly's happiness is the most important thing to Vladimir. After all, they are brothers, and have always looked out for each other.</p><p>Or </p><p>Anatoly wants balloons but things go wrong from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> My first Daredevil fic. Of course it had to be about these two russians. I apologize if I got anything about their pasts majorly wrong; I didn't know much about their time in Russia.
> 
> Rated only for some light descriptions of violence.

     The Red Square was aptly named. The color flourished everywhere from the fronts of buildings to accents in the parks. St. Basil’s Cathedral also boasted the strong russet red amid its striking range of colors. But in the arduous winter, the square could be more correctly described by the blanket of snow that covered it.

     Every inch of the buildings was lined with the thick matter. It broke up the red hues, leaving only peeks of auburn crescents on the undersides of the eaves visible. Vladimir found that the whiteness was blank and dizzying, a numbing expanse that soured the moods of all who walked through it. Except Anatoly, he thought.

      The smaller boy was chipper, a surprisingly pleasant figure among the dreary shapes that moved about the cold. Tied to his wrist was a bright balloon, the clearest reminder of the city’s vibrant reds that attracted so many tourists in the summer. Another was tied to his own wrist, upon Anatoly’s insistence.

     Vladimir had questioned his younger brother’s odd request for the balloons. “Anatoly, why on earth you want balloon? We are Russians, we have no need for such silly things,” he stated gruffly. The younger’s eyes had won him over. It was not that he was soft, no far from it. Vladimir was old enough to dabble in the less honorable side of humanity, and showed enough tenacity to begin making himself a name. It was not a question of his brutality.

     But Anatoly was another matter. His happiness was the most important thing to Vladimir, more so than any position, any title, any riches. So, when his fancies took the form of bright red balloons, he could not tell him no.

     He should have suspected it coming. The Red Square was hardly devoid of hooligans - after all, he was there – but the runt had done something unforgivable. Anatoly and he had been enjoying the bustle of the Red Square like they always did. The weather never stopped them, and apparently for the rest of the citizens, neither were they. Therefore, they walked, trailing the red balloons behind them, each adorned with charcoal drawings. Anatoly had insisted that he draw each of their faces on the balloon; Vladimir had let him.

     The boy had been slinking between the crowds of people, hiding among their dreariness. He had seen him out of the corner of his eye, heckling a woman that was hawking her blankets to the cold figures. He had paid the kid little attention.

     The pop was not loud, but in the static expanse of the snow, it sounded like a bomb. Anatoly’s sharp gasp soon followed, and people turned around with suspicious glances as a polished stone and bright pieces of rubber floated to the ground, where they stood out like blood against the milky white floor. The childish representation of the younger’s face disappeared into thin air.

     The culprit sniggered nastily, and cut his way through the crowd in retreat. He wove smartly, but in vain, as he did not lose Vladimir’s sharp eyes.

     “ _Rodstvo_ , wait!” Anatoly cried, distressed from both the loss of his balloon to his sudden departure. Vladimir pushed after the runt, feeling his anger pulse madly. He followed the kid into an alley that closed into a dead end, and found himself at the advantage. He stepped forward.

     “Come on, I was just having some fun,” the other complained. His voice grated on Vladimir’s nerves, and he felt his eye twitch.

     “That was my brother’s. Apologize to him!” he snarled.

     The runt, who was decidedly scrawny, looked past his shoulder to the newly arrived Anatoly and sneered. “I got nothing to apologize for.”

     Vladimir let his fist fly. The boy flailed wildly, falling backwards into the snow. He did not have time to escape, however, because the older Russian had followed him to the ground. The chill in the air disappeared as he punched the other, and he was only vaguely aware of other things happening around him: the kid’s pained yelps, the tug of the balloon as it followed his wrist in its deadly deliverance, Anatoly’s timid cries.

     It was his brother’s plead that stopped him. “Please,” he whispered hoarsely, and it was then that his adolescence became readily apparent, “You don’t have to kill him.”

     The quiet words drifted into Vladimir’s consciousness somehow and stopped his next blow, a kick to the already damaged ribs. He was breathing heavily, the rage in his mind making him see red. A whimper drifted up from the ground. “Stay away from the Ranskahovs,  _govnyuk_ ,” he growled.

     “Hey!” a thick voice shouted. Vladimir turned. A Russian guard was standing at the entrance to the alleyway, obviously drawn by the commotion. “What are you doing?”

     The coward on the floor weakly shouted, “Help!”

     The man moved forward, “Stay where you are!”

     “Come on, Anatoly,” Vladimir whispered. He picked him up quickly and the boy slid onto his back. The alley may have been a dead end, but that did not mean there was no means of escape. Vladimir ran to the nearest window, using its ledges to begin scaling the building.

     The guard shouted in protest. He rushed forward, attempting to apprehend him before he could get away. Vladimir was too quick. He ascended quickly, and turned to give one last warning glare at the runt still on the ground. Apparently, the kid had some guts. Scrabbling in the snow, his hands found a stone, which he chucked hard at the brothers. The second balloon, still tethered to Vladimir’s wrist, exploded upon the stone’s impact, joining the fate of its twin.

     In one last act of hate against the boy, a despicable excuse for a human, he spat over the side of the building and turned for his own escape. He jumped from building to building, putting as much distance between him and the guard. A prison sentence was the last thing he needed.

    Once he deemed the distance safe, he slid Anatoly off his shoulders onto the soft roof of snow. A smudge of charcoal on his cheek stood plainly against his skin. Vladimir could not resist bringing up a gentle hand to wipe it away. “No one will take away your happiness,  _rodstvo_. We are the Ranskahovs, and we are there for each other, even when the sun sets fire to the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> rodstvo= a translation for blood. More accurately means kinship or relation by blood  
> govnyuk= shithead
> 
> I apologize for the most likely bad russian. I don't know any of the language; everything here is from google translate.  
> Thanks for reading! This was my first attempt at these two, and I hope you liked this short fic!


End file.
